


Down and Gritty

by freshfuckinpot



Series: Dave/Link [1]
Category: Foo Fighters, Rhett & Link
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Bottom Link, Daddy Kink (mention), Frottage, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:16:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshfuckinpot/pseuds/freshfuckinpot
Summary: Link laughs, he can’t help it. They’ve been here for all of an hour and his night has taken some weird turn where he’s-- he’s somewhere, he’ll figure that out later-- with Dave Grohl, making small talk.





	Down and Gritty

He doesn’t want to start the conversation off the way it starts off in his head. 

He doesn’t want to reach out and shake this man’s hand and stutter out a nervous, “I saw you in Habit Burger once!” 

So, instead, he takes Dave’s hand when he offers it and stutters out a nervous, “I saw you in a restaurant once!” to keep a little ambiguity to the whole thing. He has to yell over the roar of music and the crowd, and he’s almost certain Dave didn’t hear him. 

His whole face is hot, he can feel it, and he only just barely hears Dave’s laugh, barely registers it when he’s being tugged forward. He braces himself for the shoulder slap, but stiffens just slightly when he’s pulled into an actual hug instead. A real hug, both arms around him, like they’ve known each other forever instead of having just met at this fluke of a party Rhett and Stevie had coerced him into coming to. 

The thing about being invited to actual celebrity parties that bothers Link is the pressure to be on his best behavior, to say the right things, do the right things, talk to the right people. Rhett’s good at this sort of stuff, at flitting between this group and that group, drinking just enough to have him feeling good but not enough to have him sloppy. Link, not so much. There’s always a fuzzy, tight feeling that creeps into his veins at these events, so when Stevie had shown them the email and encouraged them to come, saying it would be a good way to get more people on the show, to have interesting guests, to make some big-name friends-- Link panicked. 

Then, Rhett had said, “Jack Black invited us to a party at his house; we’re not saying no. We’re going, Link.” And that was that. 

There are people everywhere, milling about with drinks and blunts and God only knows what else being passed around, and Link is almost sure Dave is going to wave him off now. 

He takes the hug, revels in it for just a second, and shudders just a little bit when there’s a big hand at the small of his back, and then a heavy voice in his ear asking him, “You want another drink?” 

And Link  _ is  _ almost done with his, so he lets Dave guide him through throngs of people over to the bar area set up in the corner. Dave doesn’t ask what he’s drinking and Link doesn’t offer it up, taking whatever he’s handed, too giddy and nervous to be bothered with it at this point. There’s a beat where Dave’s talking to the bartender about something, too low to be heard over the music, and then he’s turning back to Link and waving at him to follow, winding through the house. 

Link hadn’t even noticed the stairs, but Dave looks like he’s on a mission, like he owns the place. It’s a beautiful house, not that Link expected anything different, but it’s sprawling, seeming to go on forever, a place that’s easy to get lost in. Dave doesn’t seem concerned. Then again, he knows Jack pretty well, if his memory serves him well.  

Link feels sort of like he’s floating, like he’s being led to the lion’s den, and it’s weird not to have Rhett by his side. But-- 

But he’s almost glad, when Dave leads him through to a balcony that’s quiet and the closest thing to intimate that this sort of party allows. There’s a table and wicker chairs, a matching loveseat. There’s enough room that he starts to get his bearings again, finding his footing, feeling his chest start to loosen a little. He’s not sure if Dave could tell he needed to be away from everything or not, but he’s thankful regardless. 

Nobody else is out here, the fresh air nice for the few moments before Dave is lighting a cigarette that Link doesn’t remember seeing him retrieve from anywhere. He’s careful to make sure the smoke blows away from Link, a kindness Link wasn’t exactly expecting. 

“It’s too fucking loud in there,” Dave says, using both hands to push his hair from his face before he’s taking the cigarette from between his lips and taking a sip from his drink all in one fluid motion. He turns to Link and says, “Hey man, I’m Dave,” sticking his hand out again. “Now that I can fucking hear what you’re saying.” 

“Link,” he says, taking Dave’s hand in his and shaking firmly. 

“You’re that YouTube guy, right?” he asks, and that question never gets old, not really. “My daughters watch your show.” 

Link laughs, he can’t help it. They’ve been here for all of an hour and his night has taken some weird turn where he’s-- he’s somewhere, he’ll figure that out later-- with Dave Grohl, making small talk. 

Before he can get anything out, Dave is taking another sip of his drink and asking, “Did I drag you away from your friends?” 

“They’ll find me later, I’m sure,” Link promises, finally dragging his drink to his lips. Before he even takes a sip, he can smell that it’s stronger than he usually goes for. It’s whiskey. Smooth enough that he doesn’t pull a face, but not his favorite. Still, he jokes, “Oh man, the things I drink usually come with a paper umbrella.” 

Dave laughs, claps his hands together, and plops himself down onto the loveseat with resolve. He says, “The sweeter the drink, the shittier the hangover,” and lazily tilts his head back. Link takes in the line of him, the fog of nerves finally having rattled their way out of him. He’s less intimidating like this. 

Not  _ not  _ intimidating. Just less so. With his legs crossed, his hand half-heartedly holding a cigarette, the other wrapped around a glass of whiskey that’s already sweating from the heat-- there aren’t butterflies in his stomach when his thinks  _ this is Dave Grohl _ anymore. 

Or, well. 

There aren’t as many, that’s for sure. 

Right up until Dave looks at him again and says, “You said something when we were inside.” It’s a reminder, acknowledging that he hadn’t heard Link. 

Taking a seat across from Dave, in one of the chairs, Link guides his free hand through his hair, lets out a breathy laugh. He nods, crosses his legs, and says, “I saw you in Habit Burger once, a few years back. My kids made fun of me the whole way home because I was too chickenshit to go up to you.” 

It tugs another laugh from Dave. “Fuck, man. You weren’t too chickenshit tonight, so now they can’t make fun of you.” 

“That’s true,” Link says, takes another tentative sip of his drink. “We did a whole episode on it, a few days later. Rhett hates going up to-- to  _ famous  _ people,” and he feels silly, “and he’s really the reason I didn’t go up to you that day.” 

Dave grins at him, shrugs his shoulders. “It doesn’t bother me much anymore. At a restaurant? That’s sort of a shitty place to ask for a picture or whatever, but there are definitely worse places.” When Link laughs, he says, “I mean, if I’m taking a piss or something, don’t fucking ask me to sign something, but if I’m just having lunch and you want to say hey, it’s not so bad.” 

“Did I mention I almost followed Daryl Hall into a bathroom once?” 

“Oh, dude,” Dave laughs, taps out the end of his forgotten cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “That’s pretty fucking bad.” 

“I know that now!” Link laughs. He shakes his head, and shapes his next sentence in his mouth before he says it, makes sure it comes out the way he’s trying. “We uh-- We’re just starting to get to the point where people recognize us sometimes. And I’ve--” he pauses, shakes his head around a laugh. “I look at it differently now.” 

“Yeah, it kind of rocks your fucking world when it starts,” Dave agrees. “I had already been in the scene for a while before people started noticing who the hell I was, so I had at least a little bit of conditioning before I got bombarded.” 

The obvious questions hang in the air, but Link sidesteps them. He’s not here to be a dick, so instead he says, “I’m glad I didn’t go up to you that day. I was glad the instant I decided not to.” 

“For the record, I’m glad you didn’t, too,” Dave says, but he shoots Link a wink and downs the rest of his drink. “If only because my impression of you wasn’t altered by the experience since now we seem to have crossed paths again.” He leans forward to put the glass on the table, next to the ashtray. “And because being able to eat without having to pose for pictures halfway through is nice.” 

Link takes another careful sip of his drink and tries not to falter when he notices Dave watching him, arms stretched across the back of the loveseat. After a beat, Dave says, “Did you know Dwayne Johnson is here?” 

And Link arches an eyebrow at him, teases, “Well, it was nice talking to you,” and makes like he’s scrambling to get out of his seat. Dave reaches across to slap him on the thigh through a laugh, and Link plops back down, hearing the chair whine underneath him. Around a chuckle, Link admits, “We hung out with him when we first got here.” 

“You had Jack on the show, didn’t you?” Dave asks. Right, Jack Black. It’s still a bit surreal that they’re here, that they’d even entertained the idea of actually accepting the invitation to show up to this oddly private party at Jack Black’s house. 

“We did,” Link says, nodding his head and trying for another sip of whiskey. “He’s cool. It was a lot of fun having him on.” 

“When’s it my turn?” Dave asks, and if Link hadn’t caught the grin, he’d think he was being serious. 

So Link giggles nervously, runs his hand through his hair again. “Whenever you’re ready. But just keep in mind you might end up eating some animal’s balls or something. I wouldn’t be too eager about it.” 

Dave tosses his head back with a laugh, and waves Link off with a, “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had balls in my mouth.” 

“Hey man, we’ve all been there,” Link teases, his laughter bubbling up from his chest in thick waves. 

And something shifts, because Dave hums in the back of his throat, and says, “Oh yeah?” right as Link is finally finishing the last swallow of his drink. It burns, this time, and Link’s not sure if it’s the drink or Dave’s eyes on him. 

He opens his mouth to talk, but Dave cuts him off with a sudden, “Oh shit, hey,” like he’s just remembered something. He leans back in his chair and fishes around in his pocket for a bit, finally pulling out what is unmistakably a blunt. And he raises his eyebrows at Link in question. 

“I haven’t done that shit since college, man,” Link chuckles, but nods his head. What the hell? Nothing else has made sense tonight, why not this, too? 

Link watches Dave put it between his lips, takes note of the lines of his face as he lights it. The familiar scratch of a lighter, and Dave’s eyes are falling closed. He tries not to watch too hard, tries not to get caught. But then Dave is pulling a drag, his fingers holding it near the bottom, and he’s reaching out to hand it to Link as he inhales. 

His hand doesn’t shake as he grabs it from Dave, but the rest of him feels like he’s going to rattle apart right here on this chair. When he just holds it, makes a sound in the back of his throat and swallows thickly, Dave gently says, “Sorry if it’s kinda wet.”

“It’s good,” Link promises, putting the end between his lips. It is kind of wet, right at the tip, from Dave’s mouth. It tastes just like he remembers, earthy and sweet and herbal. As he inhales, he counts in his head, tries his best not to take too much and cough his lungs out. 

He’s only vaguely aware of Dave’s eyes on him as he pulls a drag. It’s just a little unsettling, so he lets his eyes slip shut as he reaches out to hand the blunt back to Dave. Their fingers brush, and he tries hard not to think about it, about how his skin feels different where Dave’s had been. 

The air feels different as he watches Dave take another hit, watches the way his mouth shapes around the smoke, how his throat bobs. And when he’s reaching out to hand it back to Link, he licks his lips. 

This next drag is harder, rougher, and he coughs a little bit, masking it through a shake of his head, handing the blunt back to Dave. “Gosh,” he laughs, flopping back into the chair, rubbing his hand against his chest, as if he’ll be able to ease the ache from the outside. 

With a grin, Dave says, “You did great, Link.” And it’s--

It’s the way he says it, how the vowels curl around his tongue, how he sounds like he believes it, like his mouth has been waiting to say those exact words this whole time. Link does his best not to blush, not to think of it so hard, but when he looks down, he notices his hands are trembling just a bit. 

He goes to grab his drink, realizing half-way through that it’s empty. “You want another one?” Dave asks, the blunt dangling between his lips as he pushes his hair back again, adjusts his shirt from where it’s ridden up on the sides. 

Link shakes his head, says, “Nah, I’m probably-- pretty fucked already, to be honest.” 

This time, when Dave laughs, it’s kind, and he sinks a little lower on the loveseat, his legs spreading, his arms fanning out against the wicker back as he gets comfortable. And Link watches his mouth work around, “When’s the last time you got this fucked?” 

The question settles low in his belly, bubbles out of him in nervous giggles, and he admits, “I’m a busy man.” 

“Sure,” Dave says. “But you gotta make time for gettin’ fucked.” 

The word lilts at the end, delicate and deliberate and sliding its way down Link’s spine until he’s making an involuntary sound in the back of his throat, shifting in his chair. Dave is watching him, he knows, waiting for some sort of a response, but all Link can manage is another fit of giggles. 

After a pause, a moment where Dave taps the end of the blunt out, leaving the roach in the ashtray for someone else to worry about later. And Link swallows, hums, tells him, “I made time for it tonight, I guess.” 

“Yeah?” Dave asks, his eyes as heavy and serious as his voice when they land on Link.  

There’s a table between them, a couple feet of stagnant air. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, the weed making him feel thick, the alcohol leaving him slow and hazy. Dave crosses his legs again, and Link uncrosses his. 

Dave keeps the dance going, tells Link, “Too chickenshit to come up to me in Habit Burger, my ass.” He’s grinning, and Link matches it. 

“Too respectful,” Link concedes, putting his hands up as if to show surrender. 

Dave’s eyebrows perk up, and he nods slowly, his foot bouncing up and down as his fingers drum against the back of the loveseat. Link swears his heartbeat changes pace, matches the tempo Dave picks up absentmindedly.  

“Still feeling too respectful?” 

And it’s an invitation, his legs sliding uncrossed again, eyes meeting Link’s for the moment of still Link allows the question. Link’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and he lets his response rattle around in his head before he says it. 

Dave watches him, patiently gives him time, has this complete nonchalance about him that gives Link goosebumps. Link could give him any answer at all right now, and Dave would be okay with it; he just likes playing this game.  

Around a hum, Link asks, “What if I’m not?” 

The answer he gets is a grin, and Dave spreading his legs a little more, his throat working around a rough sound that echoes around in Link’s chest. He understands. 

Getting up and out of the chair is harder than it should be, and his legs wobble just a little bit. He braces himself for Dave to laugh at him, but it never comes; he just watches Link, gives him time to get his bearings straight. It helps, and he wipes sweaty palms on his thighs before he’s knocking his shin clumsily against the table between them and stepping between Dave’s thighs. 

He means to sink down into Dave’s lap, to get his thighs around his, get a little bit into his personal space, but Dave all but drags him down. There’s a haste being pressed into his hips, those big hands holding on a little too tight. And he makes a sound that Link mimics, deep and desperate, right before he’s manhandling Link into his lap. 

“Good?” he asks, and Link melts into it, nods his head, his eyes already sliding shut before Dave’s getting a hand on the back of Link’s head and tugging him forward. 

Link, for his part, does his best not to fall forward entirely, tries to keep up, but Dave holds Link’s head in place and makes it hard to have any say in the kiss at all. So instead, he gets his hands on Dave’s chest and gets two fistfuls of his shirt, whining high in the back of his throat when Dave licks past the seam of his lips. 

He tastes like weed and whiskey, and Link is going to remember that taste for the rest of his life. Dave’s free hand finds its way to Link’s inner thigh, careful and questioning, and Link can’t help it when he rocks his hips forward. 

His head is already spinning, his body bowing into the sensation of Dave’s tongue against his own, Dave’s hand just gently grazing its way along his thigh. It’s so good, everything, from the hand at the back of his head that’s more careful that he would have thought it would be, to the way Link’s own thighs are stretched to aching to accommodate Dave’s own spread ones. 

And gosh-- 

Shit, when he realizes that Link’s okay with it, he just barely cups his hand over Link’s dick, half a second of pressure before he’s caressing over the inseam again. It’s a dance, a tease, and Link’s body thrums to the tempo of it, his hips working on their own accord as they rock forward. 

When Dave pulls away, it’s to let a chuckle rumble out of him, and a thick, “If you just wanna get yourself off, that’s cool, but I’d like to help.” 

“You’re helping,” Link promises around a laugh, but he stills himself, feeling a buzzing under his skin to do  _ something _ to speed this along. 

Dave pulls away then, his hands slipping down to Link’s ass instead. And he says, “Go ahead, then.” 

Link can feel his face heat up, his chest expanding with embarrassment at being called out. He leans forward to try and distract Dave from how he’s watching him, but he gets a hand on his chest and a, “Uh-uh.” As if on an afterthought, Dave pushes him further back until there’s enough space between them that he can see the whole line of Link’s body when he tentatively rocks forward. 

“You can do better than that,” Dave teases, his hands pressing him forward so that his hips are mashing into Dave’s, just enough pressure for him to really be able to feel it, between layers of clothes and how spread his legs are. He isn’t getting much out of this, just more worked up at being watched, but Dave hums his encouragement, keeps pressing him forward, and he groans in frustration when Dave’s fingers slip a little lower, teasing along the sensitive backs of his thighs. “Now, do you want some help?” 

“Yes,” Link says, nodding his head in case the verbalization isn’t enough, in case Dave needs both. And gosh, it makes his head go a little fuzzy when he realizes the game they’re playing. 

Dave hums, slides his hands back around, cups one over his cock again, putting just the slightest pressure, just enough to send a shiver trembling through him. “Ask for it,” Dave murmurs, just barely there, quiet and almost unsure. 

And Link lets his breath out in a rush, his hips rocking forward, says, “Please.” When Dave’s hand squeezes a little tighter, almost enough pressure for Link to press against, Link leans forward to slot their mouths together. He pulls away with a, “Please, Dave.” 

“Come home with me,” Dave says against his mouth, his hand finally rubbing at Link just right. He curls into the feeling, hips arching into the contact, hands slipping up to cradle Dave’s face so he can mash their mouths together while he dry humps his fucking hand and--

And--

Gosh, fuck, he whines in the back of his throat at the feeling of it all, how he feels floaty and thick all at once, how his brain is fuzzy and Dave’s body is the only tether to the real world he has right now. 

All at once, Dave sits up, presses that much closer against Link, so they’re really in each other’s space, so that there’s nowhere else to go. Pressed this close, he can feel Dave’s voice rumbling in his chest when he says, “Come home with me, baby.” 

“Okay,” Link agrees. “I want to, yes.” 

\--

Passing Rhett in the hallway is almost awkward, but all he gets is an eyebrow raise and a wink, and he knows that means they’ll talk later. Dave isn’t shy about waving, and winking right back at Rhett, earning both of them a loud laugh that shakes Rhett’s whole frame before he’s shaking his head and giving Link a thumbs-up. 

“He’s not the jealous type, is he?” 

It takes Link a second in his haze, but he realizes what Dave means after a beat, and he’s stuttering around a laugh, “We’re just friends!”  _ Business partners _ , almost flies out of his mouth next, but it feels wrong every time he says it, so he skips it this time. 

Dave’s eyebrows arch in suspicion, and he shrugs. “Coulda fooled me.” 

He’s patting Link on the shoulder and laughing before Link can gather his thoughts, before he’s caught on that he’s gaping at Dave, a little wide-eyed and unsure of where to guide this conversation. An explanation sits on his chest, but he never gets a chance to work his mouth around the words, Dave’s hand falling to the small of his back and guiding him through the house again. 

The pressure of his hand is nice, warm and heavy, and he feels so fucking good tonight, soft and hazy, and by the time they’re walking outside, the clean, familiar night air has him back on that balcony, remembering exactly what he’s doing here. Dave stays close, probably too close, his hand slipping under the fabric of Link’s shirt after a second, fingers brushing along his skin and causing him to shudder at the sensation. 

He leans into Dave, letting him know he appreciates the contact. And Dave leans in with him, until he can get his mouth at Link’s ear and ask, “You good?” 

Around a grin, Link nods, chews at his bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m good. Just kinda--” 

“High?” Dave suggests, laughing softly. 

Link snorts indelicately and says, “Yeah, I guess that’s it, huh?” 

The car they get in is fancier than anything Link’s been in, probably ever. Dave holds the door open like a true gentleman, scoots in close, keeping that contact. And he says something to the driver that Link misses, too focused on trying to unlock his phone to no avail. His fingers are too shaky, his eyes too unfocused to figure it out right now. 

He feels good, sinks into the seat a little bit. After a moment, he realizes just how close Dave is, sitting in the middle seat, legs spread enough that their thighs are touching. There’s an arm behind him, on the back of the seats, fingers drumming along to whatever song is playing on the radio. 

And Link hums, thick and content in his chest, making a decision and slipping his hand onto Dave’s thigh. He gets a look, careful and pointed, out of the corner of Dave’s eye. It’s enough to keep him still, until Dave is spreading his legs just a little wider, giving him the slightest of nods. He feels good, feels bold, and when he slides his hand further up, cups his hand over Dave, his reward is Dave’s own hand on top of his, encouraging, guiding how he wants it. 

There’s a shock of arousal that Link hadn’t expected rolling through him, and he lets Dave ease his hand up, to the button of his jeans. Link gets the message, fumbling fingers working to get them open. The second he does, Dave’s hand is back on his own, slipping both of them into the tight confines of his pants. 

Link sits, keeps his eyes ahead, bites back a laugh when he realizes what they’re doing, and gives Dave all the cooperation he wants. Dave keeps his hand on Link’s, moving them so that Link can get a better grip on his cock through his underwear. There’s a low hiss between Dave’s teeth, and Link chances a look just in time to catch him leaning his head back onto the seat, tossing Link a grin and a wink. 

It feels almost cheap, definitely dirty, Dave using Link’s hand to jerk himself off. Because that’s what this is, with how Dave’s fingers are curled into the outside of Link’s hand, how he’s manhandling him around. Link’s head is already fuzzy from the weed and the whiskey, but  _ this--  _

Good gracious, this has him reeling. 

After a beat, Dave’s hand finds the back of his head, fingers grazing over the hair there absentmindedly. He’s touchy, Link’s learned, leaned in a little too close, playing with his hair like he can’t help it. It’s nice to be touched; he  _ loves  _ being touched. So he doesn’t think about it when he leans into the contact, encourages Dave’s hand higher up onto his scalp, into the longer part of his hair. As his eyes slip shut, he hears a low, bemused chuckle from Dave, and feels him drag his nails gently across his scalp. 

“‘S good,” Link murmurs, low and serious. 

And Dave hums back, “Yeah, baby.” 

He loses track of time, sits back and lets Dave rub the palm of his hand across his dick, slow and careful and teasing, his other hand scratching at Link’s scalp. And it’s not until Dave is humming thickly, easing their hands free, and pointedly putting Link’s hand back in his own lap, that Link realizes they must be close to Dave’s house. 

Sitting patiently, letting his hand rest against his thigh where Dave placed it, Link catches his breath, finds his bearings, focuses on the hand in his hair instead. Dave’s fingers keep scratching along his scalp, and it’s distracting enough that he’s startled when the car lurches to a stop. He’s tugged closer to Dave with the hand stroking through his hair, a too-sweet kiss pressed into the side of his head as a silent way of letting him know that he’s good. 

And then Dave’s saying something to his driver, who laughs kindly, with a comfort that says he’s been doing this for a while. Vaguely, Link wonders how many times he’s seen Dave pull someone new into a car, just how familiar this is to him. It doesn’t matter, it just curls low in his belly with curiosity, the heat of realization that the idea of Dave doing this often throbs through him with arousal. His brain settles on the word ‘ _ experience’ _ , a stark contrast to himself, and it’s good.

It’s so fucking good. 

Somehow, it’s even better when he’s being encouraged through a humble but gorgeous house, smelling vaguely like charcoal and air fresheners. Dave murmurs quietly as they walk, turning on lights and explaining what each room is, where they are, giving Link the abridged version of the tour, until they’re in the kitchen. 

It’s nice, clean but lived-in, the fridge decorated with pictures and ticket stubs and reminders. Dave stays close as they walk, nearly pressed into Link’s back, and he crowds in even closer when Link leans against the counter. He’s grinning as he encourages Link’s legs apart with a knee, stepping between them, and cupping Link’s jaw in both hands. 

He says, “You’re fucking pretty,” and leans in to slot their mouths together. He kisses like they were back at the party, slow and wet and deep, and Link sighs sweetly into it. The big hands cupping his face manhandle him just a little, something he’s not used to, sending heat flaring in his belly. Just barely, he hears the whine he lets out, registers how his body curls into Dave’s. 

Even with the marble countertop pressing into his lower back, the scratch of Dave’s beard against his face, the way his legs are spread open-- even with all that, he feels himself melting into the kiss. It’s so easy to let himself be kissed, to let Dave’s tongue slip between his lips, to taste the weed and the whiskey and  _ Dave  _ with his own. 

Maybe it’s the high, the buzz, the newness of it all, but this might be the best kiss he’s ever had in his life. And when Dave pulls away to ask, “Want a drink?” Link sucks in a breath, nods his head as he’s pulling Dave back down to keep on kissing him, ignoring the chuckle, the way Dave’s hands slide to his chest. 

What he can’t ignore is the way those hands cup over his pecs, squeeze where tits would be if he had any, and his knees go a little weak. The moan he doesn’t quite manage to muffle doesn’t go unheard, and Dave hums, keeps squeezing until Link hisses, tells him, “Okay, okay.” 

Dave pulls away, looking smug, winking at Link before he’s wiping a hand over his facial hair, smoothing his hair back. “Drink?” 

Link hesitates for a second, stuttering over a response in his head before finally settling on, “Raincheck on the drink, I think.” 

\---

Dave makes him drink two glasses of water anyway. 

And, when Link tells him he needs to pee, Dave follows him into the bathroom. It’s not the master bathroom, farther down the hall, nearer to the studio that Dave had pointed out to him when they came in. But it’s cozy, it’s clean, and Dave washes his hands while Link pees, leans against the counter when he’s done and eyes him carefully. 

It’s not the first time Link’s had someone in the bathroom with him, but it’s the first time he’s been watched so intently. It settles somewhere low in the base of his stomach, but he ignores it, saves it for later. Once he’s flushed and zipped himself back up, Dave winks at him, tucks his hair behind his ears. Link is only vaguely aware of his buzz by this point, too focused on Dave to really feel bothered by it, but he feels a little wobbly at that. 

He washes his hands, dries them with the towel Dave presses into his hands. 

And the room that Dave leads him to is big, very obviously a guest room, but more comfortable and lived-in than any other guest room Link’s ever been in. 

“Hang out here for a second, okay? I’m gonna go grab some shit and I’ll be right back.” 

Even without Dave’s huge presence, the room feels cozy, warm, inviting. Link finds himself slipping out of his jacket, undoing his belt, toeing out of his shoes and pulling off his socks. He folds everything, puts it all on the chair in the corner, undoes a couple of his buttons, and sits on the bed, his back up against a comfortable stack of pillows. It’s good.

It’s nice. 

And he tries not to drift off, tries to stay present, but it’s quiet and he’s still fuzzy from everything, his hands folded behind his head, his ankles crossed, his eyes slipping shut. 

There’s a hum that he’s sure comes from himself, and then the soft sound of the door clicking in place as it’s closed. The bed dips, and Link grins, cracks an eye open to find Dave straddling his hips, lube and condoms in hand. 

Still grinning, Link makes a content sound, deep in his chest, and pretends like he’s settling down even more, sinking further into the mattress as Dave settles in his lap. When he opens his eyes again, Dave is working on the buttons of his own shirt, the buckle on his belt. 

“Nothing stops you, huh?” 

“There are plenty of things that stop me, thank you,” Dave promises. “Like the word ‘Stop’, and unwanted blood, and so much other shit. But you thinking you’re smug? Nah.” 

He’s smiling, and Link chuckles, hands reaching out to slap Dave’s away, thumbs sliding the buttons open easily, like muscle memory. And once it’s undone, he pushes it off of Dave’s shoulders, skimming his fingers over his chest. He’s smoother than Link, skin darker, warmer, and he leans up, slots their mouths together easily. 

He feels warm, content, and Dave’s hands find their way to the base of his skull, cradling him carefully, the tone shifting just a bit, softer and sweeter, and less urgent. Link starts working on his own buttons, until his shirt is open, held in place by the press of their bodies. 

Dave pulls away with a groan, hands falling to Link’s chest, pawing at him like he was in the kitchen. This time, a thumb passes over his nipple, and Link shivers, their mouths close enough that he can feel Dave’s smile, can taste his breath when he chuckles lowly. 

Almost dizzyingly fast, Dave leans down, presses his open mouth to Link’s chest, works his tongue over his skin, just leaving behind wet patches around Link’s nipple. It’s maddening, and Link makes and irritated sound in the back of his throat, gets an innocent look thrown his way when he does, and right as Dave is sealing his mouth over Link’s nipple, he rocks his hips, grinding down right on Link’s cock. 

It sends a shock through him, has him stuttering through a, “Fuck, Dave,” as his hands fly to Dave’s hair, tangling in the mess of it. He’s too busy running his tongue along Link’s nipple to respond, but he does grind down one more time, Link bucking up against the feeling. 

And when he pulls away, he’s laughing just a little, his hands moving to run along Link’s sides, soft and grounding, and he says, “How’re you feeling?” 

“Good,” Link tells him, body thrumming for more contact, and Dave rocks his hips again, a steady rhythm, slow and purposeful. He doesn’t stop touching Link, fingers finding their way to the waistband of Link’s pants, thumbs rubbing at the skin there, dipping inside for just a second before he’s humming. “Please,” Link groans, arching into the contact. 

“Oh? Please what?” 

“Take ‘em off, man.” Gosh, he’s so worked up, feeling like they’ve been dancing around this for hours. He likes the tease, but he needs to feel skin, needs something more than the hint of pressure he’s been getting all night. “Come on, Dave, please.” 

“Well, since you asked so politely,” Dave teases, and Link feels his fingers working at Link’s button, tugging his zipper down. He scoots down as he works Link’s pants to his ankles, tugging them off before tossing them to the floor. There’s a request sitting on Link’s tongue that dies the second he realizes Dave is already working at his own pants, standing at the foot of the bed to get them off. 

When he climbs back onto the bed, he doesn’t straddle Link again, choosing instead to hover over him on his hands and knees, pressing his mouth to Link’s skin again, this time sucking a mark into his side, teeth grazing over the hurt for just a second, and Link writhes underneath him, gasps loud and sharp, takes it until Dave decides he’s done. And gosh, when he is, he presses a soft kiss against the sting, then in a long line down to the base of his cock. 

Link can hear his pulse in his head, through the wet sounds of Dave’s mouth on his skin, even louder when Dave mouths at him messily over his underwear. Dave’s hands find their way to his thighs, digging in just a little bit, and he sits up, spreading Link’s legs before settling between them. 

With a low hum, he pushes Link’s knees further up, scoots closer, until he has their cocks pressed together. Link makes a thick sound, too loud for that little bit of contact, but Dave just rocks forward in response, pulling another sound from Link. Link watches Dave slip his own underwear down, watches how he puts his hand at the base of his dick, squeezes just a bit, and fuck. 

Fuck, he’s got a nice cock. It’s thick, and he tugs Link’s underwear down too, so that he can line them up, get one fist around both of them as best he can. With a low, rumbling sound, he asks Link, “Can I fuck you?” 

It’s a silly question, Link thinks, this far into things, because he’s pretty sure he’s done everything except for outright say those words, ask for that specific thing. But something flares in his stomach at the question, and he chokes out a heavy, “Yes, please.  _ Please  _ fuck me.”

His head is thick, fuzzy, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the alcohol, with the weed-- it’s all Dave at this point, his hand on Link’s cock, how close they’re pressed together, how fucking  _ kind  _ he is. This whole thing has him elated, feeling big and full, and when Dave moves to pull both of their briefs off of each of them, Link tugs him down to slot their mouths together again. 

He slips his tongue past the seam of Dave’s lips, wet and deep, and he very nearly misses it when he feels Dave reaching for the lube. But he pulls away when he realizes it, doesn’t want to miss anything, chokes on a sound when he feels the wet pad of Dave’s finger at his hole. 

“You ever done this before?” 

He’s nodding before the question is even fully out there, biting at his bottom lip, whining in the back of this throat without meaning to. Dave chuckles at him, rubs at him with two slick fingers before adding a third, switching back to one. And then he’s asking Link, “How many first?” 

It twists in Link’s belly, and he pants, grunts out, “Just one.” 

There’s just a beat, a moment where Link can feel him press at his hole, the slightest bit of pressure, and then he’s pressing all the way inside, slow and easy and already punching all the air out of Link’s lungs. His fingers are thick, rough, and it’s good, it’s so good already.

Dave’s making low sounds, the hand he’s got holding his thigh up rubbing gentle circles into his skin with his thumb. When his pulse slows, Link realizes Dave is talking in that low tone, telling him how good he feels, how pretty he is, how he’s going to put another finger in. 

He almost misses it, but the stretch is there, bright and sweet and hot all the way through him, igniting him from the inside out until he’s wriggling down against it. Dave’s hand on his thigh squeezes, giving him something to focus on, a tether. 

“Gosh,” Link groans. “You-- Oh,  _ please _ .” 

It’s been a while, but he’s so worked up, has been dragged through a party with his cock hard and heavy in his pants, been teased and promised and now he’s almost there, and gosh, he fucking  _ wants _ . So he chokes on a sob when Dave leans down to press their mouths together when he slips his fingers out, wraps his clean hand around the base of Link’s cock while he undoubtedly slicks himself up. 

Almost in sync, Dave sits up, and Link feels the blunt head of his cock pressed against him, wet and hot, and Link gasps. “Yeah?” Dave asks, planting his hand on Link’s waist as he rubs over his hole, waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah, yes. Come on, I want it.” 

“Oh, you want it,” Dave teases, grinning at Link, just barely pressing inside. “I know you want it, baby.” 

Link chuckles, tilting up into a moan when Dave finally presses inside, slow and easy just like his fingers. He says, “You’ve only been stringing me along for two hours, now.” 

“I can string you along for a lot longer than that,” Dave tells him, a promise, a fond look on his face even as his hand slips away from his own cock so he can sink the last couple inches into Link. “But let’s keep it simple for tonight.” 

A whine punches out of Link as Dave bottoms out, and he giggles stupidly, a little drunk on all of this. Dave’s fingers dig into his skin as Link tells him, “Let’s save the kinky shit for the second date.” 

“The second date  _ is  _ usually where I have you on your knees calling me ‘Daddy’,” Dave laughs, and Link blanches. 

He clenches down around Dave, moans thickly, and feels his face heating up at the butterflies he feels in his stomach. Then there’s a curious sound from Dave, a heavy, almost too-loud sound as he pulls almost all the way out, presses back in. It’s so fucking good. 

His hips working into Link, slow and easy and so, so fucking good, Dave says, “I’m gonna make a note of that.” 

“Fuck,” Link gasps. Dave’s cock is thick and nice and he angles his hips just so, that familiar feeling building in Link’s guts until it’s more than just a hint of a sensation. It’s a careful drag of his hips until Link’s pressing up to encourage him along, and Dave squeezes at him again, works his hips a little harder.

“You like that idea, Link?” Dave asks, and Link’s stomach flutters again, pretty and sweet at the tone of Dave’s voice, the way it curls around Link’s name. “Huh? Want me to get you on your knees in front of me?” 

Link’s eyes fall shut, his hand coming down to wrap around his cock, squeeze just enough to have him arching into the feeling of everything. When his other arm comes up to drape across his eyes, Dave moves it away again. 

“Do you wanna call me ‘Daddy’, Link?” 

He comes, just like that, with Dave’ voice echoing in his head, a moan tumbling out of him as he does, his voice cracking around a thin, “Oh, gosh.” He feels fuzzy again, free hand shooting up to brace himself on Dave’s chest. 

The hand Dave’s got on his waist slides up to squeeze at his chest again, almost painful, and Dave’s rhythm falters for just a second before he’s groaning loudly, pulling out entirely. Link feels him press their cocks together again, too much all at once, but Dave’s already coming, making a mess all over Link as he does. 

“Fuck,” he says, fucking through the mess he’s made. And after a beat, Link feels two fingers press back inside him, careful and easy, and he’s so wrung out, exhausted, but it’s almost nice to feel full again. 

Dave’s gentle in sliding his fingers out of Link one more time, but not very discreet in how he wipes them on the sheets. Link’s laughing at him before he can help himself, and Dave catches his eye before laughing too, leaning up to slot their mouths together in a wet, messy kiss. 

When they pull apart, Dave searches for the mark he bit into Link’s side, traces along it with his thumb, and asks, “Doesn’t hurt too bad, does it?” 

Link stretches around a yawn, shakes his head through it, and promises, “Nah, it’s good.” 

Dave hums, his brows furrowing for a moment before he’s thumbing over Link’s nipples cruelly. “Shower? It’s probably big enough to fuck in,” and he’s wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously.  

Link snorts. “I don’t know how I feel about the word ‘probably’ being in that sentence and the look on your face, but-- shower, yes, please.” 

\--

Turns out, Dave’s shower is definitely big enough to fuck in. 


End file.
